


old words

by tattooedsiren



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Introspection, Love, M/M, Words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 13:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattooedsiren/pseuds/tattooedsiren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wasted so much time waiting to hear the words from Harvey. It was months, <i>years</i>, so much wasted time. And it took him longer than it probably should have to realize that while he was waiting for Harvey to admit that he felt this too, this connection between the two of them, strong and unyielding and overwhelming, that Harvey had already told him. He had said it in every touch, every look, Mike was just too blind to notice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	old words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Peculiaritea (KarinBerry)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KarinBerry/gifts).



> Written for my dear Karen, who was the winning bidder in the fandomaid auction. Thank you so much to everyone who bid on me and helped raise money for a great cause.
> 
> Karen, this fic is unforgivably short, but I promise to make it up to you. Hope you like it. :O) And thanks as always to smartalli for the beta.

  
_When a man is in love how can he use old words?_ \- Nizar Qabbani

 

 

 

Mike wakes instantly every morning. Whether it's summer or winter, a weekday or the weekend, the moment he wakes there is no going back to sleep.

Harvey, however, is his complete opposite. It surprised Mike, those first few mornings together. He fully anticipated that Harvey would be up at 6am every morning come rain, hail or shine, that he would drag Mike out into the bright world, Mike kicking and screaming the whole time. And while he does drag Mike out of bed earlier than he would like during the week, the weekend is a completely different story.

But Mike likes that, how Harvey surprises him, how his preconceived notions were completely shattered. It seems stupid now, to be surprised by Harvey being contrary to Mike's assumptions, because let's face it; Harvey has been surprising him pretty much from the moment they met.

One prime example of Harvey's habit of being completely counterintuitive to Mike's expectations is that Harvey is, well, for lack of a better word, a cuddler. Not that he would ever admit to such a thing, and Mike still smiles when he remembers Harvey's face, a complete expression of abject horror, when Mike mentioned it once. But Harvey is someone who expresses himself not through words, but through touch.

It's just one of the many ways in which they are completely different. Mike uses his words, all of them, babbles and spills words, is verbose even (read: especially) when he probably shouldn't be. He's always been that way, and though it's gotten him into trouble more often than he would like to admit, it also got him Harvey, so call it a blessing in disguise.

His whole life Mike has always relied on words. It's a quirk of his brain that he can't turn off, probably wouldn't even if he could, because he remembers everything he reads and hears. And even though it sometimes brings him heartache, even though sometimes he wishes he could just be like everyone else and not remember every - single - thing, he thinks on balance this gift has brought more joy than pain into his life.

Because he can remember the last words his parents said to him before they died (" _Be good for Grammy, Mikey. We’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight, baby._ "), but he can also remember the first words Trevor ever said to him when they met when he was seven (" _Hey, you, chuck us the ball back._ "). He can recite the entire works of A. A. Milne (" _Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin…_ ") and Ernest Hemingway (" _He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish…_ ") and William Shakespeare (" _Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour draws on apace; four happy days bring in another moon: but, O, methinks, how slow this old moon wanes…_ "). He could go on all day, recite thousands of conversations he’s had with hundreds of people. Words are real, words are important.

He wasted so much time waiting to hear the words from Harvey. It was months, _years_ , so much wasted time. He regrets that now as he wakes up beside Harvey, all those lost mornings they could've been curled up together, all those missed dinners and evenings on the couch watching bad sci-fi. But he has this now, so he doesn't dwell on it too long.

But it's moments like this, waking before the sun has risen above the horizon, with Harvey's body warm as it's curled around his own, that he can't help but send a silent thank you out into the big, wide world. Because Harvey has his forehead pressed softly between Mike's shoulder blades, his arm is draped over Mike's side and their legs are tangled together and it's everything Mike could ever need. And while he is never ungrateful or dismissive of what they have, he can get distracted by the insane lives they lead, and he may appear thankless or like he takes this for granted. But he never does. Not for one minute.

He breathes in deep, trails his fingertips along Harvey's hand, and Harvey's fingers idly twitch until Mike laces their hands together. Harvey isn't awake yet, it was probably an unconscious reaction, but Mike is definitely the romantic one, and he likes to think that even when sleeping Harvey wants to be twined with Mike.

It's less of a crazy idea than it sounds. Because Harvey, unlike Mike, doesn't trust words. Mike knows why, knows that he grew up in an environment of deceit, and all Harvey sees are lies and hidden agendas. Which is why he never says anything, not even now. Instead he expresses himself in other ways.

It took Mike a while to catch on, for him to realize the physicality of Harvey was like a whole new language. That when he pushed Mike with his hands to his chest it meant _I'm worried about you_. When he curled a hand around his upper arm to pull him down the hall it meant _I want you closer_. When he cupped a hand around the back of Mike's neck as he sat with his head between his legs, overcome with an unexpected bout of car sickness, it meant _feel better soon_. That when he wrapped his fingers around his wrist it meant _I want you_.

Okay, so he never claimed to be a genius (at least, not about things like this), and it took him longer than it probably should have to realize that while he was waiting for Harvey to admit that he felt this too, this connection between the two of them, strong and unyielding and overwhelming, that Harvey had already told him. He had said it in every touch, every look, Mike was just too blind to notice. But when he did eventually catch on, because he is who he is, he babbled incoherently (something along the lines of " _Oh God, Harvey, I'm just so crazy about you and I know that I shouldn't but how can I not be when you are you and you saved me and I've never felt like this about anyone before and I should be scared because this could ruin everything but I'm not I'm just so fucking happy to know you and even if-_ ") until he was quieted by Harvey's mouth on his own.

And then, it was like everything just fell into place. Within a month he had moved in to Harvey's place. Two months later Mike bought them matching platinum rings, and when he presented them to Harvey the older man just grinned, one of those golden smiles complete with a shining gaze and crinkles around his eyes, taking one of the rings and slipping it onto Mike's left ring finger before holding out his left hand for Mike to repeat the action on him. They aren't married legally, at least not yet, but Mike figures it will happen sooner or later.

And in the meantime he gets this. Sunday mornings, waking up to the sounds of Harvey sleeping soundly behind him. Easy kisses throughout the day, warm and heartfelt even if they are no more than pecks. He gets nights in bed where Harvey makes sure they are always touching; a foot to his ankle, a hand curled around his hip, a warm chest to pillow his head on. He gets touches so intimate and heartfelt he feels like crying, like Harvey's palm sliding up his inner forearm before he links their fingers together, or Harvey's fingers threading through the short hairs at the nape of his neck, or a series of light kisses pressed from his closed eyelids to his temple across his jaw line to his waiting mouth. He gets Harvey's bruising kiss, the desperate way his hands strip him of his clothes, the way they move together, hot and desperate or slow and intimate, hands and mouths roaming over every inch of his skin. He gets Harvey's sigh as he pushes into him, like he's never done this before and never will again, and their bodies move in a rhythm so perfect Mike thinks it _must_ be fate.

To this day Mike has never heard Harvey say those three little words. He's surprised by how little that bothers him. He doesn’t need to hear it. He just knows.

But Mike is still Mike, and he uses his words. He turns in the bed, and though Harvey stirs he doesn't wake. Mike shifts to get comfortable, mirrors Harvey's posture by throwing an arm over this side. He watches Harvey sleep for a few minutes, then presses a soft kiss to his forehead.

"I am so in love with you," Mike murmurs, and Harvey is too busy sleeping to care. But Mike doesn't mind. Because soon Harvey will wake, he'll smile widely at him, liquid brown eyes full of love as they look at him, and Mike will hear the same words articulated back to him as Harvey kisses him good morning.


End file.
